


Costumes

by FoxesOwlsandBumblebees



Series: Thoschei One Shots [1]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Canon Non-Binary Character, Gen, Nonbinary Character, The Doctor (Doctor Who) Uses They/Them Pronouns, The Doctor is non-binary, i love how that's a tag
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-29
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:40:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27255844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FoxesOwlsandBumblebees/pseuds/FoxesOwlsandBumblebees
Summary: The Doctor and the Missy spend time together in the Vault
Relationships: Twelfth Doctor/Missy
Series: Thoschei One Shots [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2022494
Comments: 4
Kudos: 22





	1. Doctober Prompt: Costumes (Twissy)

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so this was initially going to be day 28 of Doctober (Costumes) but I don't really want to talk about what happened with Doctober. Instead, I thought I'd upload this separately with what I hope to be a whole load of Thoschei fics.

The Doctor hadn’t visited Missy tonight.

Which was... a nuisance.

They’d promised her an Indian takeaway straight after that stupid university staff Halloween party and although their eggy friend had popped in with said food, she’d been rather fancying the company.

Egg was no fun.

Except when throwing her leftover chicken bones at him. He did quite a silly little jig when she did that.

Regardless, she was bored. It had been _hours_ since the egg and she wasn’t a patient woman _._ But if anyone asked her whether she actually wanted the Doctor there, they’d be thrown strategically through the gap in the door.

Missy was very good at contorting human bodies. In fact, she was sure she had a manual somewhere…

As though she had summoned them through the power of thought alone, the door finally unlocked. The egg always spoke immediately whenever he showed up, so she knew it wasn’t him. It had to be the Doctor.

Missy was not smiling at the thought of seeing the Doctor, thank you very much. She was merely remembering how funny the egg looked when she’d been explaining what she would do with him if he started to bother her. “What took you so long? The humans bothering you?”

The Doctor didn’t speak, so she turned to look at them.

She would’ve laughed if she wasn’t lost for words.

The Doctor was wearing their usual black dress trousers and shoes, but instead of a white shirt, they’d paired it with a black one.

She quite liked looking at that.

Especially since the Doctor wasn’t so good at remembering their dress size.

But what put her at a startled confusion between being ever so slightly impressed by their appearance (call that what you will) and highly amused were the _accessories_.

A fluffy black tail attached to their belt and a headband displaying matching cat ears sticking out of their curls.

Never one to miss an opportunity, Missy immediately reached the piano and tapped out the notes in time with the Doctor’s slow, rather embarrassed creep across to her.

De dum.

De dum

De dum de dum de dum de dum-

“Very funny,” the Doctor almost snapped, interrupting Missy’s take on the Pink Panther theme.

She grinned, sauntering over to them and crossing her legs as she sat down on the plush sofa “I thought so. Very rude of you to interrupt though.”

They turned to glare at her, but she couldn’t help being more amused than anything else. They’d clearly done it themself; Nardole was much more heavy-handed, and probably would have gone for a more literal interpretation of a cat instead of what the Doctor had done.

If she didn’t know any better, she’d think they’d put ‘cat makeup’ into Instagram and gone with the first look they’d seen.

She’d had Instagram for a while. Before the Doctor had caught her trying to set up a group chat for fellow destructive personalities. She’d claimed it was for fans of video games. They hadn’t believed her.

It was a wise move on their part.

Regardless, despite their tentativeness (a general side effect of entering the vault these days), they sat down next to her, crossing their legs and throwing their arms back.

Missy wasn’t looking, but if she was, she’d probably notice that the shirt they were wearing was too tight across their chest. And it was rather nice to look at. But she wasn’t. So it wasn’t.

“Yeah, well, it’s Halloween. Staff party as usual. Nardole wanted the doughnuts.”

“So the egg is happy?” She couldn’t help but continue to admire their outfit out of the corner of her eyes. If they hadn’t won the costume party, humans were officially blind.

The Doctor chuckled “No. He’s grumbling all the way to the Co-Op.”

It’s official. Humans are blind. And stupid. If that was the lesson she was in the Vault to learn, she hadn’t learned it.

But then again, it _was_ humans who’d come up with the tradition of dressing up…

She had an inkling that her expression was far too fond, so she grinned and drawled “That’s too bad. Well, I think you make a lovely cat.”

“Thanks.”

She reached up to stroke their curls, chuckling at the cat ears and pouting when they ducked away “No purring for me, kitty?”

“Fuck off.”

Charming. “If you’d let me out, we could’ve done a cute couple’s costume. Me as a witch and you as the cat. You could’ve done my makeup and everything. We probably would’ve won too.”

“Don’t tempt me,” they sighed.

Missy pulled away. “Are you okay?”

Another sigh as they leaned into her touch. She was getting particularly good at pretending it didn’t mean anything. “I just… I just wish that…”

She knew what they were going to say. They hinted about it pretty much every time they showed up.

It almost made her wish for the bloody egg.

“You wish I was good and you could trust me around humans?” Their head went down at her snarky tone and she couldn’t help her hand gently stroking through their curls.

In her defence, they were ridiculously soft. And the Doctor seemed at least a little bit annoyed that she was doing that.

She sighed, pushing the terrible thoughts of _goodness_ aside “Ah well. More of me for you then.”

She felt them shift slightly. They were always a little bit nervous whenever she flirted with them. As she, unfortunately, realised that they weren’t going to flirt back, she changed the subject. She grinned at their makeup, choosing to poke fun at that instead “Was that Nardole’s idea?”

It got a response. The Doctor blushed, reaching their hand up to rub at the makeup on their cheek “I, uh, yeah. He said I couldn’t be Stevie Nicks or David Bowie again, so this was the next best thing.”

“Darling, you were David Bowie three years running. The only outfit you haven’t done is his Labyrinth garb and _no-one_ wants to see that.” The Doctor’s embarrassed hand had awkwardly rubbed off most of the egregious cat makeup, but it hadn’t touched the eyes.

Not that Missy was looking, but they looked surprisingly... good. With sharp winged eyeliner of course.

As any girl knows, anyone looks good in sharp winged eyeliner.

Even people like the Doctor

Dragging her attention away from their face, Missy elbowed them “You have to let that crush go sooner or later.”

The Doctor’s mouth quirked up “You remember.”

Dear God, she had, hadn’t she?

She bristled slightly, pulling her hand out of their hair. They made a little disappointed noise that she pretended she didn’t hear and waltzed back over to the piano. “Yes. well. it’s because you’ve introduced an association of Halloween with David Bowie songs.” To prove her point (and to stop the embarrassing fumble), she tapped out the first few notes of Starman “I had to figure it out, you know. Since you flat out refused to get me the piano book.”

She heard a low chuckle from behind her “I thought you didn’t like David Bowie?”

She rolled her eyes, pressing down on the pedals and playing louder to try and distract them “I had the songs in my head. It’s a bother. Your fault.” Any further comment the Doctor might have had was drowned out by Missy’s obnoxiously loud piano playing. “And anyway, if you want me to stop, I could always play - oh, what was it again? Britney Spears?”

The Doctor groaned and she took that as an opportunity to finish at the end of the first chorus, ending with a flourish. She waited patiently for applause.

She didn’t get one.

The Doctor was just staring wistfully into the distance and smiled softly as she came to sit next to them again. Kindly, she didn’t flinch when their head came to rest on her shoulder. “You know David wrote that about me.”

She sighed. Her eyes were really getting a workout today “Aye, darling, you tell me that every time, about how when you were Pretty Boy, he absolutely fell for you and wouldn’t stop writing you letters and that stupid look you get on your face whenever you talk about it-“

“Are you jealous?”

“Fuck off,” she said gently, her hand reaching their cheek. 

She pulled them down to kiss them. They reacted exactly as expected, freezing up and then slowly melting into compliance, grasping her shoulders tightly and pulling her close. She broke away from them and studied their face, the alarm in their eyes very slowly melting down to something much more familiar...

They seemed to be waiting for her permission, so instead of granting it, she smeared the purple now decorating their mouth and spread it across their lips. They reached their hand up to touch it and she grinned “I was right. Purple lipstick would have worked with that. Maybe that’s why you didn’t win the competition.”

She patted their cheek and then rose from the seat, settling back behind the piano. She turned back around to look at them when she didn’t hear the familiar click of the Vault “What?”

The Doctor looked very very confused, their hand reaching their head to pull off their headband. They looked like they wanted to ask her a thousand questions, but instead of asking any of them, they just sighed “Can I have a makeup wipe please?”

“On the stool. Now go and wipe it off before you smudge it with your stupid crying.”

A small nod. A brief “Happy Halloween, Missy” and then they were gone.

She looked up once the door clicked shut to see they’d left one of those jumbo packs of sweets on her piano. It was probably an apology.

Part of her wanted them to stay.

But the other part of her was particularly pleased that they’d gone.


	2. Christmas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a late Christmas special I’ve been working on since the 24th. It was meant to be fluffy but...  
> You’ll see

The Doctor is meditating. It’s becoming a habit. It stops the world becoming too much and just allows them time to work on little compositions they’re at a standstill on.

But they’re not thinking about music this time around.

Their mind is in a whirl. All focused on someone in particular.

Missy.

They've been thinking about her since Halloween a few months ago. Running that kiss through their mind and attempting to make sense of it. Make sense of  her  and what they should do...

This is their newest solution. From the remnants of memory, they’re trying to scramble together a conversation they had a while ago. Possibly earlier today. Possibly two weeks ago. Time passes slowly here.

“So you’ve liked her for a long time?”

The Doctor nodded “Yeah. We were kind of a thing back home.”

“Scotland,” the professor guessed and the Doctor shrugged. It’s a good enough lie as any “How long ago?”

They’d been interrupted. Their fellow teacher had rushed off to a psychology lecture.

Or maybe she hadn’t. Maybe she’d been an English teacher. She either has dark brown eyes or green ones. They can’t quite remember.  Note to self: make eye contact more often.

The woman they’re talking to is swirling in their mind. They haven’t quite figured out what she looks like, but she seems nice. She’s a good point to base their thoughts on, anyway. They decide on a combination of the two traits: dark hair and green eyes.

Her name though… that’s the tough one. They don’t remember the psychology professor enough to remember her name and certainly not the echoes of that woman they possibly know. Maybe Cara. Carrie? Something beginning with a C.

They’ll go with Cassidy. Seems appropriate enough.

So in their mind, they answer the question “Uhm since I was a little girl I think. Presume it was that long ago. I vaguely remember he used to give me flowers.”

They’re not joking. Flashes of their youth on Gallifrey dances through their mind. The young Koschei handing their young self a flower and then giggling maniacally as he shoved them off a cliff.

They deserved it for asking why he looked like that…

“You’re an um... Cassidy stammers a little before saying “You’re a David Bowie?”

They like to think she’d come to the right conclusions. If she wasn’t otherwise distracted with the running of the psychology department and the Doctor didn’t have Nardole breathing down their neck, they’d consider bringing her along for a trip in the TARDIS. They enjoyed their silly debates about Freud and Marx.

At least, they chide themself, they would if they remembered who she was.

“That’s why you always go as David Bowie for Halloween! I’ll never forgive your secretary for making you go as a cat this year; we were all excited to see Jareth.”

“I mean, Missy liked it.”

“Oh. So you did it for your girlfriend?”

The Doctor can physically feel themself going red. Even in their mind, Cassidy is a case. They really should message this woman. A text or an email or whatever’s not anachronistic for their time period. 1987 at the last count…

Cassidy smiles as they stammer “Well how about you do something nice for her?”

They don’t remember making her respond. Maybe it’s the TARDIS getting involved somewhat “Sorry, what?”

“Do something nice for her! Buy her gifts or go on walks with her or something!”

They open their eyes. It’s a really good idea. The fake (or possibly real at some point) woman disappears and they take their guitar off slowly. Do something nice for her.

Something nice for Missy...

-

The Doctor thinks about the imaginary conversation all the way through the lecture and all the way back to their office. Something nice for Missy, the figment of their imagination had said. Well, isn’t that a good idea?

She deserves it. She really does. She’s spent over one hundred years in the vault already. Maybe even more. They stopped counting a while ago. But it’s alright for them. They can just bugger off in the TARDIS for a fun jaunt.

She’s stuck. She’s stuck there. In that barren room. Equipped with only a bed, some books, a laptop and a piano.

They close their eyes and fondly let the faint sound of ‘Oh Come All Ye Faithful’ fill their ears. The caretaker, Mrs Twiffitter, an eccentric name for an eccentric old lady, has her broken old radio playing. They tried to buy her a new one last Christmas (well, Nardole did) but she insisted on her own. “It may be old and rickety, Doctor!” She told them, with one finger raised from a shaky fist “But it still works!”

They conceded in the end and they don’t regret it for one minute.

Her explanation seemed fitting in a way.

They don’t hear when Nardole comes in the room but the gentle clock of the door registers in the back of their mind.

They’re considering procrastinating their explanation, but needs must.

So they speak immediately.

“I’m…” They sigh “I’m gonna let Missy out of the vault.”

Nardole raises his eyebrows at them “Sir are you sure-“

“Yes!” They’re shouting. It’s stupidly loud.

They lower their voice “I’m sure. I feel like I can trust her enough.”

“I don’t.”

Good for him. Fortunately, this conversation doesn’t concern him, so it’s as good as over. Nardole is giving them a grumpy look and conveniently blocking their access to the door. He’s not very good at grumpy looks. It’s all in the eyebrows.

Nardole’s are as sparse as the hair on his head.

“Sir.”

The word irritates them. They hate his authority. It was only when he said he hated it too did they decide they liked it. They don’t though. It’s just irritating. “It’s just for one day!”

“Which day, sir?”

“None of your business! Why did I even bring this up to you…”

“It was your conscience talking.” He grins and waves “Hello! It’s me, your conscience!” His face falls again “It’s a terrible idea.”

Fortunately, due to Nardole’s ridiculous dullness, their mind has wandered again. They’re admiring their desk. Looking at their sonics, their teacups, their portraits…

The calendar reading ‘24th December 1987’…

Perfect! A perfect excuse! “It’s just for Christmas.”

Nardole stops in his ranting and then looks at them. His stupid eyes narrow and they can’t tell whether it’s confusion or irritation.

They’d forgotten about how much  work talking to Nardole could be “Why?”

Why. Of course, he asked that. Why not? Why not? Why is such a stupid question when they can answer it that simply…

They have a list a mile long of things they’d much rather do than tell him verbally, so instead of speaking, they beckon him over and gently press their hand against his head.

And show him their Christmases.

The version of winter they celebrate on Gallifrey with their husband, daughter and grandchildren.

The film they watched with Steven, Katarina and Sara.

The Sycorax ship and Christmas with the Tyler’s.

The averted dinner with Donna and her family.

The crashing Titanic with Astrid.

Amy and Rory’s failed honeymoon.

Christmas dinner at the Ponds.

The killer snowmen.

Trenzalore.

That awful kantrofarri and... whatever her name was.

River...

None of which feature the Master.

Nardole waves them away after a few minutes and they sigh, voicing aloud what they’ve been showing him mentally “I never really see the Master at Christmas. The last time I did it was…” They close their eyes, trying not to remember Christmas 2009. When the Time Lords came back. And the Master almost died. Again.

His manic laughter echoes in their ears and they shake their head. Nardole is probably looking at them with a concerned look.

Good.

“So she’s never…”

“Had a Christmas. No. Not even our equivalent on Gallifrey.”

Nardole looks almost… sad. They think that’s the emotion he’s conveying, anyway. “So you want to…” he considers for a second “If it’ll make her happy.”

YES!! Fantastic! The Doctor smiles calmly, trying not to show how much his permission means to them “It will.”

“And there won’t be anything bad happening today?”

“I can’t stop it if it does,” they consider for a second, “I think I did actually. Christmas 1987. Going out and trying to stop it would only create a space-time paradox if I were to meet my previous self.” They’re lying. They did have a chat with the little one about Christmas and he was more than willing to oblige. Ace didn’t understand who they were, but she was more than willing to keep out of trouble and do what her professor asked of her if it meant they’d have a good Christmas.

They miss Ace. They’d keep their eyes out for someone like her…

“So it’s going to be a calm Christmas?”

“Perish the thought. No, I hope that this time tomorrow, your favourite woolly hat and coat will be burnt to a crisp!”

Nardole stares at them for a long time and then finally, after what feels like decades, acquiesces “Alright then.” The Doctor can physically feel the smile growing on their face “But I do all the cooking.”

“Of course you will.”

“And, Doctor?”

They don’t look up, but offer a ‘hmm’ as *exchange* “I’m only doing it because I know it’ll make her happy.”

“Yeah. Good. Whatever.”

“And if a nice side-effect of that is you not being so grumpy, then I’ll take it.”

They look at him for a long time “Shouldn’t you be at the Co-Op?”

“Very good, sir.”

Nardole ambles off. They shake their head in disgust and then smile. They’re going to tell Missy.

-

The Doctor unlocks the vault as quickly as they can and then make themself at home on their chair. Missy pretends they’re not there. She just continues to play the piano.

She’s been weird since Halloween.

Well, they’ve only really noticed since Halloween. She might’ve been acting strangely before this point.

But the hopeful, hopeful part of them that begs for the events of that night to mean something believes that they’re right.

They rehearse it at least five times before they say the words. And even before they speak, Missy is rolling her eyes.

“For god’s sake, Doctor, just say what you came here to say and then go! I can hear you moping from over here!”

They wince. She’s astonishingly good at reading them “Hello to you too, Missy, it’s lovely seeing you as well.”

Missy just shoots them a glare and turns back to her piano. The tune changes. It’s now a particularly rude Lily Allen 2005 hit

“Charming.” They hold up their bag of goodies they snagged from Nardole and shake the bag. It doesn’t make a noise, but they’re trying. “I got you some Christmas Eve goodies.”

She just plays louder. “Can’t hear you over the words you’re not saying!”

Not for the first time, the Doctor regrets getting her the piano. They can’t speak over-familiar tunes or words, it makes their brain foggy. She knows that. She’s just being difficult. “Missy, can you… can you stop for just a second?”

The slam of the lid of the piano makes them jump. She stalks over to them in her little prison and they immediately press the button to let her over to them.

They did all the security features before she noticed them. Sonicking the door shut. Shoving their screwdriver to the bottom of their deep pocket. No way of escape without them.

So then why are their heart rates accelerating when she leans towards them?

She grabs the bag (that she didn’t need to lean over them to get) and rifles through it. Now she’s distracted with something that isn’t noisy, they go to form the sentence. “Um… Missy, would you like to spend Christmas dinner with Nardole and me tomorrow?”

There. They said it.

She doesn’t even look up. Too busy grinning at the Toblerone. “No thanks.”

They sigh, ignoring the way her blasé words stab into their hearts and trying not to be too disappointed “Right. Okay. Sorry.”

“Nice try though,” Missy stammers a little and the Doctor glances up at her. She hides it well, but it’s definitely a stammer. She shuts her eyes “You’re just trying to make it up to me.”

“For all of this?”

“Forget I said anything.”

“No, Missy…”

“Shut up!” She snaps. They didn’t expect her eyes to be dry, so they’re deeply surprised when they are “I didn’t mean that. I’m sorry.” She takes a deep breath, composing herself “Didn’t mean to be a bitch. Thanks for the chocolate. Just not in the mood for human celebrations.”

That’s… fair enough. The Doctor is a little upset at it, but they nod and stand up. “Yeah. Okay. That’s… fair. Don’t want to push your boundaries or anything.”

Missy gives them a smile as genuine as an eight-pound note and turns back to the piano. A slow tune comes from it as they walk to the door. They’re very good at wallowing in self-pity, and they’re pretty sure they’re rather good at it after all that time as spiky-

Wait.

They turn back to her slowly and mutter “Have yourself a merry little Christmas?”

Missy looks over at them and continues to play “You mentioned it. A decade or so ago. Being pleased when you got to the year it came out.”

They do remember that. They waited until Nardole’s back was turned and rushed to the cinema to go and watch the movie and then explained the plot excitedly to Missy.

They remember it like the back of their hands.

And it hurts their hearts realising that she does too.

“But a Christmas one?”

She doesn’t say anything. 

But to be fair, it is rather difficult to play and talk at the same time.

When she’s done, she throws her hands up and turns to the Doctor. “Go on. Talk.”

“What?”

“Why’re you here? You’ve been avoiding me since October. Or at least, you haven’t been coming since October!”

“I… came for the fifth of November!”

“Because you’re scared of loud noises and knew that the fireworks wouldn’t disturb you down here!” The Doctor winces “Don’t be stupid. Of course, I know that. But why  now? ”

“Because it’s Christmas!” They shout out and wince at the decibel. They run their hands through their hair and lower their voice slightly “Alright? It’s Christmas Eve. And I…” they wave their hands about awkwardly “I just want you to…” They sink their head into their hands. Talking to Missy is hard. She makes their emotions go haywire every time they try. “I want you to have a good Christmas. And I want it to be like-“

“Gallifrey.”

The Doctor smiles softly “Exactly. The high days back home. Just celebrated the Earthen way.”

Missy pauses before she plays again “How do they celebrate it on Earth?”

“Food,” they say quietly “Presents. They feast and give gifts.”

She frowns slightly “Isn’t that what they do on their birthdays?”

“Yes, but everyone gives presents to everyone.”

“Oh. They do, do they?” She looks disgusted. “Why do they do this again?”

“Appropriation of a pagan holiday. They took the gift-giving and the feasting and made it into their own national holiday.”

“The food sounds good. And what’s that about the movies?”

They didn’t mention the movies. The slight tremor in her voice tells them that she does care more than she’s making out.

“Yeah. We can watch movies.”

“The Muppet one?”

A smile breaks across their face “Of course.” A Muppet’s Christmas Carol. Of course, she’d like that one. The tale of an old man brought to kindness in one night by kindly puppets.

“Nothing you think though.” She says hastily as though she can hear their mind going. She probably can. Missy’s telepathy has always been wonderful “I just like the puppetry.”

“Of course.”

“Nothing about the plot. Just Kermit and Gonzo and..” she lowers her voice “Damn you.” The Doctor chuckles “But your answer is still no.”

“Are you sure?” SHES already back to playing when they ask, ‘Pop Goes the Weasel’ coming from her piano at top volume.

It’s answer enough.

They sigh. Again. Their lungs are really having a workout today “Just... text me. If you change your mind.”

She gives no indication she’s heard them.

But given that the music changes to Kermit the Frog’s little song from Christmas Carol, they allow themself an optimistic smile.

-

The Doctor locks the vault up and proceeds up the stairs to their office with heavy footsteps. Their expression clearly shows on their face, as Nardole tries for a hug the second they get there. They duck around him quickly and settle on their chair.

They don’t want him to talk.

He talks anyway.

“Listen, I’m really sorry, sir. I know you wanted her to join us. I didn't think she would, but-"

They shake their head. They can't be done with this “She’ll come around, Nardole. I promise you.” They hold up their phone “She promised to text me.”

Nardole nods “I wouldn’t hold your breath, sir.”

He’s just being a pessimist. They’re sure she’ll text. They lean back on their chair and close their eyes, flicking their phone off mute and shoving it back in their pocket.

If she says she’ll text, she’ll text.

-

The Doctor’s phone buzzes at an uncomfortably loud register. It causes them to jerk awake and grab their phone with both hands to turn down the sound and turn off the horrible vibrations. They pull it up to their face.

The text reads simply ‘Fine.’

The smile grows on their face before they can stop it and they barrel down the stairs to the vault, not even stopping to care whether anyone can see their 2010s phone they have in the 1980s. They text Nardole as they rush down, telling him to get the food ready for the Christmas lunch they’ll be having that day.

Because it’s Christmas. Of course, it is. Their phone pops up with a little calendar reminder in the middle of their text. Today: Christmas Day.

As if they could ever forget.

They reach the final step faster than they remember and the door to the vault opens before they know it. Missy is already in front of them by the time they get there. They want to throw their arms around her. “Missy!”

And then they realise. She’s wearing a costume.

A puffy pink dress covered in glitter along with big awful pink wings.

It’s  obnoxious.

It’s  horrifying .

It’s fancy dress.

They love it.

The Doctor gestures at Missy’s outfit. They sit down on their chair with a thump “You’re… um….”

“Yes?” She glances down at her outfit “Oh, this? I found it in the cupboard. It’s nice, isn’t it?”

“It um, yeah, I um, it’s… Missy… you don’t dress up for Christmas!”

Missy shrugs, looking down at her outfit “Just paying you back for that earth horror day.”

“Halloween?”

“Whatever. Anyway, I see mistletoe. Kneel down so I can kiss you.”

They do her one better. Taking her arms in theirs, they pull her down onto their lap until she’s straddling their hips. She waits for a second, a brief flicker of her mind asks ‘Are you sure?’ Before they wind their hands in her hair and pull her close.

They didn't answer.

Their kiss is answer enough.

Then they’re grabbing her hand and pulling her upstairs. The route is… faster than usual. They blame it on adrenaline. And a cold shiver is running through them.

Focusing mostly on their…

“Thanks.”

Missy glances over at them and smiles “For what?”

They shrug, swinging their joined hands “Agreeing to this. Being nice after Halloween. You know.” They’re stammering and she just smiles at them. It’s such a kind smile.

It fits her face.

“You know why.” She squeezes their hand “Because I’m sorry.”

Their answering smile leads into a kiss.

Nardole’s calls of the dinner being ready go ignored.

-

“You sure nothing bad’s gonna happen, sir?” Nardole asks the second they’re up there. He’s prepared a marvellous spread.

They didn’t realise the Co-Op had such great food.

And a surprisingly vast vegetarian section. Most of the meat is fake. Nardole listened.

It’s almost as if… 

The Doctor smiles, settling down on a chair “Absolutely positive. Previous me’s taking care of it.”

Missy slips down onto their lap and they chuckle. The dress is silken, despite its glitter, they realise. Missy leans in to kiss them again “Which one?”

“Wee one with the hat and the umbrella.”

“Oh him!” Missy smiles and kisses them chastely “I liked him.”

“You too. The wonderfully dramatic way you’d fit yourself into things, crafting your plans and just generally being a Machiavelli... God, you were magnificent.” Their words sound blurry to their ears. And they haven’t even touched the wine…

“We’ve always fit each other wonderfully, haven’t we?”

Nardole glares across the table at them as he hands the Doctor a plate “Could you not flirt at the table, it’s putting me off my food.”

“Let it.” Missy’s hands reach up to the Doctor’s hair and she cranes her head down to kiss them.

The rest of the meal passes in a blur. Missy never reaches for a sharp knife to go for Nardole’s head, nor does she take advantage of the burning candle to attack his polyester.

They added ice cream to their Christmas pudding. They regret it. The midst of their head is throbbing.

They’re ignoring the pain.

It stays throughout the pulling of the crackers. But maybe they’re just antsy over the loud noises. Or maybe it’s too much wine.

Or Nardole.

Probably Nardole.

Regardless, they smile as he acts out his charades and snigger at Missy when she gives wildly conflicting answers. They’re pretty sure they both guessed ‘Titanic’ a while ago, but pissing Nardole off while he’s trying to do an impression of an iceberg getting hit by a ship (while looking more like a beached whale getting run over by a train) and then trying to make them think of the word in a sense of largeness is ridiculously funny.

Nardole is stubborn though, so even when they ask whether he wants to give up, he utterly refuses.

The headache hasn’t gone. But Missy is laughing and cuddling into their chest and Nardole looks like an idiot, and their chest feels so full it could burst...

“Is it…” The Doctor looks over at Missy and she grins. They both speak the word “Titanic?”

Nardole throws the toy in the cracker at them. Good! They wanted the mini yoyo anyway. They catch it single-handedly and he rolls his eyes “Arses, the both of you!”

Missy sniggers “Oh come off it, you big lug! It’s fun! That’s what Christmas is about, isn’t it? Having a good time?”

When Nardole sits down, evidently exasperated, the Doctor speaks quietly to the woman still sprawled across their lap “D-do you…” They stammer over their words and Missy sniggers “Do you, uh, want to watch a Christmas movie?”

Nardole hears it. Probably because he’s got massive ears. “No, I, uh, should really clean up. Don’t want the TARDIS cross with me again; I still don’t think she’s fully recovered from last time. You two go on ahead.”

“Missy?”

Missy smiles. She jumps off their lap “Sounds good to me.”

They frown as they take a glance at her.

They could’ve sworn that she was still wearing the pink puffy fairy dress...

Their head throbs.

“When did you change?”

Missy shrugs “Doesn’t matter. Where are we going?”

They shake off their confused worries and let them fade into the background “TARDIS,” they pull her into it and frown slightly as they enter. “Weren’t we already in the TARDIS? That big table we ate at wouldn’t fit in my office?”

Come to think of it, the TARDIS looks slightly off herself…

It doesn’t  matter a louder voice tells them and they shake their head “What were we after? Oh yes! A lovely modern cinema!”

Missy sniggers as she chases after them. Her giggles of excitement fill the air “Doctor, it’s 1987.”

“If you don’t tell the humans, they won’t know. Oh, look! A cinema!” It is. It’s the room they’ve been searching for. Well, the nearest one. They’re doing their best not to ramble, so instead, just pull Missy into the room.

They don’t know what it looks like. They just know it’s a cinema. To describe it, their mind comes up short. Empty.

Their head throbs.

“You took us here on purpose, didn’t you?” A different voice echoes.

“Guilty as charged. Missy?”

Who was talking? They don’t remember anyone else being in here with them...

Again, they shake their head and sit down on one of the plush chairs. It’s deceptively soft. They don’t usually like this cinema. The chairs are too prickly. The velvet worn and scratchy.

Come to think of it, shouldn’t Missy’s dress be irritating them too?

She takes the opportunity of the Doctor’s hesitation to sit on them, stretching her legs over the arm of the chair and encouraging them to do the same “Anything with the Muppets in, please, darling.”

“Oh yes, Muppets for me too, sweetie.”

The Doctor jerks their head up from where it was lingering on Missy’s face.

It’s her. Stood in front of them.

River.

It’s  River.

Her beautiful smile, her gorgeous hair, the look in her eyes.

The faint throbbing feeling of an ice cream headache...

Enough is enough.

They close their eyes and sigh. The feeling they’ve been ignoring is becoming unbearable. They should’ve known...

They can’t ignore it anymore. “Can’t just have one good Christmas, can I?”

River kisses their forehead and smiles wistfully. They don’t remember seeing that look on her face.

They really don’t remember knowing what that look even looks like. “I’m sorry.”

Missy kisses their cheek. Her lipstick doesn’t leave a sticky residue. “I’m sorry too. We had a great Christmas though, didn’t we?”

-

The scene melts away as they awaken in their cold office, jerking forward on their chair and watching as the dream crab disintegrates. It’s dark and cold, the last of the fire burnt out, and the candles Nardole must have lit dwindled to nothing.

They’re alone.

The Doctor gasps, brushing their hands over their face, just trying to get their bearings. A dream. A dream. It was all a...

They pull their coat slightly further around themself. It’s chilly.

But no headache.

“Of course no headache. It’s too unkind to be a dream.”

The words come from far away. But they’re in their calibre, so they must...

They shake their head and pull out their sonic to scan the remnants of the crab. The readings are right. Their assumption was correct. The TARDIS hums quietly in response.

They drop it back in their pocket and sigh. None of it was real. The dream is fading slowly but the kindness of it is echoing around their head. They reach back in their pocket for their phone and read the time. 3:21 am. 26th December.

Two texts from Nardole. One reading ‘We knew it was never going to happen. I’ve still got the rest of the food down here if you want it?’ The second one reading ‘Night, Doctor. Merry Christmas.’

Nothing from Missy.

The faint sound of carols down the hall. Mrs Twiffitter. She must have her radio on.

Their head isn’t throbbing.

—

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... I promise I’ll write something nice for New Year. These two WILL get their happy ending

**Author's Note:**

> This ship is innately tragic so even when I make it soft, I have to throw in some sort of way they mess it up.
> 
> I’ll give you a fun sequel on Samhain/Halloween to make up for it, how about that?


End file.
